trap him in my flowerbed
Hey, the Mets have a winning record. Probably for the only time this season.
*is not optimistic about this year's team*
It's so beautiful out today! I felt the need to take a walk after I got home (my cabride took me through Central Park, which made me happy).
This is a story of desire and consumerism.
Every day on my way to the subway, I pass this shop - I thought it was a thrift store for Lenox Hill Hospital, but I think it may actually be an "antique" store? Or possibly a high end pawn shop? I don't know. The store has no name, and there are no hours posted on its door. You have to ring the bell and hope the proprietor is around to let you in.
So every day, I pass this store, and in the window there is a cluttered display of stuff - mostly Asian stuff: brass and jade buddhas, chinoiserie boxes; as well as what looks like the heavy serving platters from Royal Daulton china sets, and other sorts of glassware.
One set of items in the window are pink champagne saucers (i.e., the champagne glasses not shaped like a flute or a trumpet). They have white stems. There is also a set of pink goblets or, upon closer inspection, bowls, also with white stems.
I don't know when I first noticed these pink glasses. I just know that since I did notice them, I have wanted them. I yearned for them tragically, like the consumptive heroine of a 19th c. opera or novel. The store was never open when I went past, and usually I was on the bus, so I never got a good look, but every time the bus stopped at the light on Lexington Avenue, I would stare longingly out the window at them.
Today, I decided to walk over there and see what they looked like up close, and how much it would cost to make them mine.
My palms were sweaty when I rang the bell, and not just from having walked uphill the length of two avenues. What if they didn't live up to my expectations? What if they were ugly up close?
Nobody answered, so I rang again. A man came up to the door with keys in his hand. "Hello," he said as he unlocked the door. "Can I help you with something?"
"The pink glasses in the window," I said, like a nervous suitor meeting the father of my object of desire.
"They're lovely, aren't they?" he said, and I agreed.
"I see them from the bus every day," I said. "I needed to take a closer look."
"They're $30 a piece," he said. "They're pink opaline" (or possibly he said opal? I admit, I was too shocked by the price to retain what he said). He took them from the window, one of each kind - the tall champagne coupe, and the squat goblet that was really a bowl. They really were gorgeous, smooth to the touch, with a nice weight to them.
I calculated the amount of cash in my wallet versus my desire, fuelled by my daily commute. "Would it be possible to get four?" I asked, because I'm a spendthrift, but not that much of a spendthrift.
"Well, there are nine pieces in the set. I'd prefer not to break it up," he said. "Every day someone comes in and asks about them. But they always say thank you and leave without buying."
I refrained from pointing out that the price was ridiculous and just said, "Well, I would really like four of them if possible."
And he said, "Okay. Two of each type?"
"No," I said, "I think four of the bowls." As I have no use for champagne glasses of that sort, though if the price had been more reasonable, I would have bought them, too.
"Ah," he said. "You can use them for dessert."
"Exactly."
"You can return them if you don't like them," he said.
"I doubt that will happen. It's more likely I'll be back for more, when I can afford it," I replied.
He wrapped them for me and I paid him for them. We shook hands and exchanged names. I didn't get a receipt. I didn't even see a cash register. We never left the doorway, near the corner of the window in which the glasses and bowls are displayed. The bowls have no name engraved on them, and no provenance to speak of.
I am filled with a glow of ridiculous contentment. I spent a stupid amount of money on something that makes me happy for some reason I can't even explain. They're pink! What the hell!? And yet, I love them.
I should probably have some witty caption, but I am too blissed out to bother.
I don't even know. but they're my pretties now.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/151997.html.
people have commented there.
*is not optimistic about this year's team*
It's so beautiful out today! I felt the need to take a walk after I got home (my cabride took me through Central Park, which made me happy).
This is a story of desire and consumerism.
Every day on my way to the subway, I pass this shop - I thought it was a thrift store for Lenox Hill Hospital, but I think it may actually be an "antique" store? Or possibly a high end pawn shop? I don't know. The store has no name, and there are no hours posted on its door. You have to ring the bell and hope the proprietor is around to let you in.
So every day, I pass this store, and in the window there is a cluttered display of stuff - mostly Asian stuff: brass and jade buddhas, chinoiserie boxes; as well as what looks like the heavy serving platters from Royal Daulton china sets, and other sorts of glassware.
One set of items in the window are pink champagne saucers (i.e., the champagne glasses not shaped like a flute or a trumpet). They have white stems. There is also a set of pink goblets or, upon closer inspection, bowls, also with white stems.
I don't know when I first noticed these pink glasses. I just know that since I did notice them, I have wanted them. I yearned for them tragically, like the consumptive heroine of a 19th c. opera or novel. The store was never open when I went past, and usually I was on the bus, so I never got a good look, but every time the bus stopped at the light on Lexington Avenue, I would stare longingly out the window at them.
Today, I decided to walk over there and see what they looked like up close, and how much it would cost to make them mine.
My palms were sweaty when I rang the bell, and not just from having walked uphill the length of two avenues. What if they didn't live up to my expectations? What if they were ugly up close?
Nobody answered, so I rang again. A man came up to the door with keys in his hand. "Hello," he said as he unlocked the door. "Can I help you with something?"
"The pink glasses in the window," I said, like a nervous suitor meeting the father of my object of desire.
"They're lovely, aren't they?" he said, and I agreed.
"I see them from the bus every day," I said. "I needed to take a closer look."
"They're $30 a piece," he said. "They're pink opaline" (or possibly he said opal? I admit, I was too shocked by the price to retain what he said). He took them from the window, one of each kind - the tall champagne coupe, and the squat goblet that was really a bowl. They really were gorgeous, smooth to the touch, with a nice weight to them.
I calculated the amount of cash in my wallet versus my desire, fuelled by my daily commute. "Would it be possible to get four?" I asked, because I'm a spendthrift, but not that much of a spendthrift.
"Well, there are nine pieces in the set. I'd prefer not to break it up," he said. "Every day someone comes in and asks about them. But they always say thank you and leave without buying."
I refrained from pointing out that the price was ridiculous and just said, "Well, I would really like four of them if possible."
And he said, "Okay. Two of each type?"
"No," I said, "I think four of the bowls." As I have no use for champagne glasses of that sort, though if the price had been more reasonable, I would have bought them, too.
"Ah," he said. "You can use them for dessert."
"Exactly."
"You can return them if you don't like them," he said.
"I doubt that will happen. It's more likely I'll be back for more, when I can afford it," I replied.
He wrapped them for me and I paid him for them. We shook hands and exchanged names. I didn't get a receipt. I didn't even see a cash register. We never left the doorway, near the corner of the window in which the glasses and bowls are displayed. The bowls have no name engraved on them, and no provenance to speak of.
I am filled with a glow of ridiculous contentment. I spent a stupid amount of money on something that makes me happy for some reason I can't even explain. They're pink! What the hell!? And yet, I love them.
I should probably have some witty caption, but I am too blissed out to bother.
I don't even know. but they're my pretties now.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/151997.html.
people have commented there.